Reckless
by gater62
Summary: Sam spends the night on the couch.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of it; I just like to pretend I do.

This was going to originally be my Ship Day contribution at GW, but a hurricane got in the way. Sorry it's late!

Thanks for the conflict idea from **ddc **on the Ship Family thread at GW. And a very special thanks to **AstraPerAspera** for letting me run my ideas past her, her clever insight into the characters of Stargate, and her wonderful editing skills.

Reckless

Bare feet padded silently across the cold linoleum floor. Quietly opening the kitchen cabinets above the sink, Sam shuffled through her makeshift pharmacy until she located the bottle of aspirin. Not bothering for a cup of water, she quickly downed two pills hoping it would relieve the headache that had been building since she left work and had escalated upon her arrival home. The laminate cabinet doors were shut without a sound; Sam was taking no chances on Jack making a sudden appearance. She was pretty sure that she could slam every cupboard in the tiny kitchen and he would remain fuming in the bedroom, but she wasn't up to antagonizing him at the moment.

She leaned back against the kitchen counter, rubbing her aching temples. The stress of holding back her tears as well as her anger had resulted in the massive pounding in her head. Grinding her teeth in frustration, she made her way back into the living room and plopped herself onto the couch that had suddenly become her accommodations for the evening. There was no way she was going to sleep with _Major General O'Neill_ tonight. If he was going to treat her as some errant subordinate, then she was not going to share a bed with a questionably superior officer.

Sam sighed again as she picked up the new throw pillow she had recently purchased. Plucking at the fabric, she bit at her lower lip. She had been trying to turn her tiny apartment into a cozy retreat for Jack's not so frequent visits. Now he'd finally made it out here and before she could even say hello, they weren't speaking to each other. Unable to contain her frustration, she threw the offensive pillow as hard as she could down the hallway toward the closed bedroom door.

Part of her knew she was being stubborn, but she couldn't let the hurt go; at least not yet. Didn't he trust her judgment anymore? He certainly had when they had been out in the field--when he had been the commanding officer and she the loyal 2IC. He had relied on her to know what risks were necessary and which weren't. So why not now? When did being a couple change that level of trust?

Blinking back tears that threatened once again, Sam lay across the couch, gingerly checking her nose. Another stellar moment in what had been a spectacularly bad day. The way this whole day had gone, in fact, it was a miracle it wasn't broken. Soon after arriving at the base, an SF had come barreling through the entrance, slamming the door into her face. Then, her computer had crashed. Frustrating, but not the end of the world—_that _had come when her new assistant had spilled his coffee all over the beaming schematics she had been working on for the past two months. It had been one helluva day at work, and Sam had fled at the earliest possible opportunity, thinking of nothing but a long, steaming soak in the tub. She should have suspected something the moment she walked in the door, but she'd been too tired to even put her things away. She'd just dropped her jacket and briefcase on the floor and headed toward the bathroom. That's when she'd seen him marching up the hall.

Regardless of circumstance, her first glimpse of Jack always left a fluttery feeling in her stomach. This time had been no different. He'd made it home this weekend—finally. His trips to Nevada had been too infrequent for her taste, but still, they always managed to make the best of the little time they did have. A smile had begun to form as she noted his silver hair sticking up in all directions. Her fingers itched to smooth it down--until she saw the look on his face.

Jack glare had been piercing; his brown eyes glinted at her dangerously from beneath a furrowed brow. Sam had tensed as she noted how his mouth was set in rigid, angry lines.

Her stomach had clenched tight. "Jack, what's wrong?"

He had effectively cut her off, waving a piece of paper in her face. "I could ask you the same question, Carter," he'd bellowed, his posture ramrod straight, his normally warm eyes hard as flint.

She had stepped back, blinking in surprise. Carter? Since when had she been Carter at home? .

Biting back a _how__the hell should I know_, Sam had frowned at him. She'd fought back the innate urge to stand at attention in response to his stance and tone. Her dismay had rapidly been replaced with annoyance. How could she have possibly been expected to know what his problem was? But in that instant she had suddenly realized what exactly the flapping sheet was.

Snatching it from his hands, she'd felt her chest tightening and pressure building in her head. "Where did you get this?"

"In the desk."

Sam had felt the heat rise through her face. "Why were you going through my desk?"

His eyebrows had risen in a fashion reminiscent of Teal'c, his expression thunderous. "Your desk? What happened to _our_ desk?"

She'd clenched her fists, fuming at his invasion of her personal space. "You know I use that desk for work, Jack. I keep my things there. And you haven't answered my question."

"I was looking for a stamp."

They'd stood glaring at each other in the dim hall, both refusing to back down. Jack had leaned in toward her, but Sam had refused to take a step back. "Well, that's beside the point…what the hell were you thinking?" He'd pointed at the paper in her hand.

The hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end. That paternalistic son of a bitch! He dared to take that tone with her in their house as if she were some errant lieutenant caught sleeping on watch?

"Since when do I report to you? I'm supposed to inform you of every little ticket I get?"

"This isn't a just a speeding ticket, Carter! It's reckless driving, for cryin' out loud! When were you planning on telling me about it? Or were you _ever_ going to tell me?"

Her voice had risen to match his. "So I was a little over the speed limit. It's not a big deal."

Jack had exploded. "Not a big deal? Damn it, just how fast were you going when _that_ happened?"

He had gestured in the region of her bruised face. She'd stared at him in disbelief. Of all the…. She couldn't help herself. "Oh very fast, thank you very much! I always look like this after I crash my motorcycle into the door of my lab!"

His face had tightened. "Not funny, Carter. We're not talking about a jay-walking ticket here. How fast were you going anyway?"

He'd tried to grab the ticket from her hand, but Sam had kept it out of his reach. She couldn't help her snarky tone. "Mach 1, or was it mach 2? It's hard to tell at those speeds. I wasn't paying much attention to the speedometer."

"Carter…."

"Sorry, Sir, I didn't realize this was an official investigation."

"Well if you weren't so damned cavalier about your own safety, I wouldn't have to run an interrogation when I got home!"

"Are you insinuating that I'm incapable of looking after myself?" Her voice had shook with anger. "How dare you, Jack? Where do you get off yelling at me as if I were some witless cadet?"

"Then don't act like one. Crap!" He had run his hands over his eyes. "Ever since you left the SGC, I thought I was done worrying about you.

"Well, you don't need to worry about me, _General_," Sam had interrupted, her tone icy. "I can take care of myself. I thought I had proven that to you—a couple hundred times. So if that's all?"

"Damnit, Carter…"

She had pushed past him and had slammed the door to the study. Leaning against the cool window pane with the ticket crushed in her hand, Sam had waited silently until she had heard the bedroom door close--loudly. She'd smoothed out the ticket and placed it back in the drawer. Waiting until she was sure he wouldn't be coming out, she had quietly made her way to the kitchen for some aspirin for her thumping head.

Now, as she lay in the living room, she fumed. Why did the man have to be so infuriatingly over-protective? Sam turned over and punched the couch cushions several times--hard. She thought it would be easier to divorce the Carter/O'Neill personas from Sam/Jack now that they'd finally found a way to be together. Maybe this fight was in indication that things were not going quite as well as she had believed. Her only experience with big blowout fights had been with egomaniac Jonas Hanson and look how well that relationship turned out. She knew that Jack and Jonas were not remotely alike, but this fight tonight was so typical of Jonas. Her heart thumped painfully at the thought.

Sam understood the importance of the chain of command. She had always been the Colonel's perfect second in command; even her arguments on missions had never crossed the line into insubordination. Well, maybe a few times--but he had always been able to see the reasons for her actions and had trusted in her abilities.

The General would expect the Colonel to make her case, offer options, but he held the position that would demand she acquiesce to his orders. But Jack did not have that right, she seethed. For heaven's sake, he hadn't even been willing to listen to her tonight! And that was what had hurt the most. If he'd even give her half a chance to explain….

The excursions into the desert were like a pressure release valve--a way to ease out of the tension and frustration of her day. The freedom of feeling the wind in her face, the landscape becoming a blur as it flew past, and the horizon always ahead kept her life from becoming ordinary—especially since it had been so extra-ordinary for so long. She couldn't give it up, not while trapped in a sterile office, not while separated from Jack.

The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Despite being able to work with technologies that came from planet millions of light-years away, she was frightened her life was becoming too mundane. While the X-303's and doohickies were challenging to work with and kept her busy, they didn't quite give her the adrenalin rush she would get from a bombing run in an F-16 at 8+ Gs , exploring planets across the galaxy, or dodging blasts from staff weapons. Crazy to think she could miss that last one, but she did. No denying she was an adrenalin junkie.

But could she explain to Jack what riding meant to her? Wouldn't he of all people understand why she craved those high-speed rides through the desert now that he himself was chained to a bureaucratic desk in D.C.?

Sam sat up and glanced down the hall. The chilly air that had settled into the tiny apartment did not compare to the coolness emanating from the closed door. Better to leave this alone until morning; they both could use the night to rein in their anger. Sighing, Sam left the couch to pick her jacket up from the floor. It would have to do, as the extra blankets were in a storage container in her bedroom closet. Settling back down on the couch with the light jacket spread over her shoulders, she stared at the white ceiling until she finally drifted off into a restless sleep.

She woke up in the early dawn. The cool air nipped at her sore nose, and Sam snuggled deep into the light comforter that engulfed her. She blinked in confusion as she realized she was on the couch and not in her bed. The memory of the previous evening reminded her of the reason for the present sleeping conditions. Easing up slightly, she caught sight of Jack sprawled in the recliner across from her, her jacket poorly covering his lean frame.

His short silver hair was sticking up in all directions. A small smile touched her lips. He had tucked her in and then slept in the living room with her. But despite the warm glow that filled her heart, she couldn't help the sad sigh that escaped. The hurt from the previous night was still there; it hadn't dissipated in the morning light.

Deciding that she wasn't going to allow herself to wallow in anger any longer, Sam headed to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee as a peace offering. She stood at the counter watching the liquid drip into the carafe, trying to decide how to broach the subject. They need to talk about this--not yell and certainly not issue orders.

When she returned to the living room with two mugs of coffee, she found Jack sitting up in the recliner, running his long fingers through his hair. She handed him a mug and then sat across from him.

"Thanks," he mumbled quietly, looking for all the world like the most miserable man on earth. Almost like she felt.

They both sipped their coffee, surreptitiously trying to gauge each other's mood.

"So, when are you heading back?" Sam finally ventured.

"Trying to get rid of me already?"

She peered at him over the rim of her mug, trying to discern his meaning. His tone was light, mocking; but before his eyes flicked away, she was able to detect the hurt her question inflicted.

"Of course not," she whispered, looking at her mug. Her hand was gripping the handle so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She grimaced. "I just thought with this being our first big fight…."

"Yeah, and I'm sure it won't be our last," Jack remarked dryly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Sam decided to dive in and cleared her throat. "Look, Jack, I need to explain about my riding. You know I have a tendency to accumulate tickets. But you also know I've never had a single accident."

She paused as Jack stood up and made his way to the couch. Feeling her heart thumping against her chest, she sighed as he leaned into the plush back and pulled her against him.

"I know," he confirmed. He tightened his grip on her shoulder.

Glancing up, her breath caught in her throat at the myriad of emotions that flashed through his eyes. His worry, anxiety, love, and finally trust poured out in his affectionate gaze that left no doubt to the depth of his feelings for her. She smiled wistfully at the relief she felt at the love expressed in his warm look.

Sam set her mug on the coffee table and reached for his available hand. Looking into his eyes, she said, "Every day is a risk, Jack. You know that better than anyone. I take risks all the time in my line of work, even in the lab. Some are more dangerous than others. And you never know when a door might jump out and whack you in the face." She saw a slight sheepish smile tug at his lips. "But I'm not reckless—not with the lives of my coworkers and certainly not with my own."

"I know, Sam. Just...give it a while before you take off at mach 2 again. Give my heart a chance to recover from the shock."

She giggled at his exaggerated clutching at his heart. Jack lifted his hand to her face and leaned his forehead against hers. His knuckles grazed her cheek before his hand turned and slender fingers glided down her face. "I do believe my 'no giggling' order still stands, Colonel," he murmured huskily.

She shivered as his breath whispered across her cheek. Sam tilted her face up, pressing her lips softly against his. She felt his hand on her shoulder move up to cup the back of her head and pull her even closer. Noses collided, and Sam jerked away, as she tentatively rubbed at her tender flesh.

"It still hurts?" Jack asked, concern etching lines in his forehead.

Laughing softly, she conceded, "A little."

"I'll get the ice pack," Jack said as he started to move to the kitchen. But Sam pulled him back to her and lifted her lips to meet his.

Jack protested, "I don't think this is a good idea, Sam. "

"It's fine, Jack," she smiled. "Besides, I'm feeling a little…reckless."


End file.
